


...you fool

by AlexisJane



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Crack, Dubious Consent, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Consensual, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-19
Updated: 2013-11-19
Packaged: 2018-01-02 02:09:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1051295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexisJane/pseuds/AlexisJane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So I was thinking about Dean's mouth...'cause I was awake and all...and thinking that I should write something to try and get a handle on my narrative style, blah, blah, blah. Then I saw this post on <a href="http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/originals/c0/fc/a8/c0fca8fa549db8a8e7bfaa68c705a7a0.jpg">Pinterest</a> and thought it made a good prompt to get started. I added an additional 'clandestine' so it would be a nice round 20.</p>
<p>So these are essentially short Kiss Fics.</p>
<p>There is a non-con and a dub-con but they are in italics if you want to read the rest and avoid them. <br/>The character death is canon.<br/>The underage is non-sexual, there's reference to weecest but nothing graphic.</p>
<p>Feedback is both feared and loved but I need it like Dean needs Sammy, so pick me to pieces x</p>
            </blockquote>





	...you fool

  
He's been trying not to stare but Dean's not making it easy. He's not even doing anything but it's still making Sam hotter than hell.

  
Dad's journal is open on the diner table in front of him. They got a call from Ellen and he's supposed to be scanning it for a mention of something that eats hearts but just gets grumpy when you shoot it with silver.  
He's not.  
He's been sitting there, prodding at his salad, watching Dean eating a burger, absent-mindedly turn the pages of the paper, hunting for a hunt of their own. Not exactly an unusual Thursday lunchtime.  
Except, for some reason, every time Dean opens his mouth and bites into that lucky burger, the sight of him baring down, head slightly tilted to one side, lips pressing together, fingers dimpling into the sesame bun, the slight moist ripping noise, his lightly stubbled jaw rocking as he chews, eyelids languidly drooping in pleasure…  
Sam shifts in his seat, trying to relieve the discomfort growing in the crotch of his suit.

  
Dean took another bite messy bite. It's bad enough him stuffing the loose salad between his lips with his fingers but Sam's eyes get exponentially wider at the sight and sound of Dean's lips smacking as he sucks some rogue ketchup from his calloused thumb.  
Sam loses it.  
Raising his ass out of his seat, with one hand leaning on the table, he takes hold of Dean's shirt collar and jerks him forward, pressing his lips onto Dean's burger full mouth.

  
Dean tries to mumble "What the hell!" but the combination of the burger and Sam's opportunistic tongue, reduces the sound to a mumble.The surprise melts to amusement as he feels Sam's mouth biting and sucking his lips, and reaches his burgerless hand up to his neck, dragging his jaw down, pulling him in.He starts to smile even before Sam pulls away but when he can see his brother sprawling back on his side of the booth, grinning and chewing, he feels obliged to frown as he looks back down at the paper,

  
"Dude! if you want a burger, order your own!"

  
Sam sniggers quietly to himself until the matronly waitress stops at the table to top up their coffee.

  
"Oh dear, Hun, you've got a bit of ketchup there" She does everything but spit on the napkin. Sam tries his best to politely to wrestle her away when she starts to wipe at his face.

Dean looks up and laughs, catching sight of the fry cook as he does.The guy stares at them bug-eyed and fish mouthed through the serving hatch. Dean throws him his best grin and winks.The large sweaty man blushes like a little girl and disappears from sight.  
  
  
______________________________________  
______________________________________  
  
  
  
"No way man"  
"Sam!"  
"No!  No way"  
"You said 'anything'!"  
"I did not"  
"Sam, your exact words were, 'Dean please please I'll do anything I promise'"  
"Yeah, but…"  
"No! No Buts…of any kind! Anything"  
"Well…"  
"Anything! Don't make me say it again!'  
"I know but…I just thought you would…"  
"What?"  
"I dunno…"  
"Oh I do! You think I don't have an imagination."  
"Oh I know you do but this..."  
"Just shut up and take what's coming to you, princess"  
"Oh god….for how long?"  
"For as long as I say so, bitch. Get over here!"

  
Sam reluctantly pushed himself out of the chair and closed the lid of the laptop. He considered trying to keep stalling but he didn't think he could keep up the pretence much longer.

Dean looked so tempting as he watched him from the bed, led back against the headrest with arms folded across his chest, just minutes before pretending to nap until he made his demand with eyes closed and a flat, "I know what I want."  
Sam walked slow but it was an effort when he really wanted to run and belly flop onto his brother and lick that smile right off his face.

The bed creaked horribly in the quiet room as he squished his huge frame next to Dean and prayed the cheap furniture would hold them both. Both men shuffled round to face each other, ridiculously huddled on the tiny single bed.

Sam opened his mouth to speak but Dean held up a finger and shook his head.

Sam sighed and rolled his eyes but his heart was pounding hard in his chest and his hands were tingling with the anticipation.Dean's fingers brushed across Sam's jaw until he was cupping his face and slowly drew him forward. Sam saw his tongue sneak out and wet his bottom lip before the grin, the wicked one that floored him every time, fully opened Dean's lips before they touched his.

  
As paybacks go, having to sit on your hands while Dean's tongue explored every inch of your mouth, gently sucked your tongue, ran his teeth firmly over your lips until they felt plump and red, and feather-kissed the corners wasn't exactly punishing.

Until it was over all too quickly. Sam sat for a moment with his eyes closed, breathing hard, before he realised Dean had stopped for good. Dean settled back and folded his arms over his chest. Sam took a breath, about to say…he wasn't sure what, but Dean got there first.

  
"That's it for a month"  
"Ugh…what!"  
'You heard me. I get to fuck you like a man. No girly crap. For a month."  
"But…"  
"You did said 'anything', Sam"

  
Dean's eyes flicked down and noted the bulge in Sam's crotch, then closed his eyes again. His smile couldn't have been more smug.

  
"Don't you have some research to do?"

  
Sam swallowed and returned to his chair, tweaking at his jeans so he could sit down without circumcising himself.  A month? Yeah, right. Just you wait. It's so on!  
  
  
_______________________________________  
_______________________________________  
  
  
  
It was dead quiet.

They were trying so hard to be dead quiet.

Fully clothed, clenched hard against each other, the urgency bordering on panic, rubbing their rock-hard cocks, thighs and chests together in harsh violent motions, arms fighting each other, hands grabbing desperately, everywhere, trying to stay upright and silent against the door frame, foreheads pressed together, neither one willing to give an inch, mouths held wide open, lips touching, breath panting in sharp gasps between them, into them, the sound of their breath and the rustle of fabric deafening in the darkened room, each one willing the other to be quiet, to be quick, to not leave them behind, to not cry out.

"Are you boys up there?!" John's voice is far away but booms through the closed door into the silence.

They stop dead, the empty horror in the pit of their stomachs killing the pleasure flat. Sam lets his head fall onto Dean's shoulder as the tension evacuates their bodies.

Dean sighs and then calls out "Yeah, just coming!" and has to pull Sam close to smother the inevitable giggle in his shirt collar. And smiles.

_____________________________  
_____________________________

 

  
_"Oh God Dean! Please! Don't!"_

_  
Sam was panicking, trying to blink away the stinging blood that was trickling down into his eye._

_His wrist bones were making a horrendous sound grinding together as he tried again to wrench them free of the belt securing him to the pipework._

_Dean's fingers thankfully didn't form a fist this time and Sam was grateful for the resounding slap across the side of his face. It made his vision spin but he wasn't sure he could take another punch to the head and just let it hang there._

_Looking down, even through the blur, the sight of all that blood, his blood, was too much and he finally started to sob._

_Dean loomed over him, one foot planted either side of Sam's legs, and finished unbuttoning his jeans._

_As he squatted down, the hard cock inside his boxers protruding through his open fly, he braced himself with one arm above Sam's head, pushed the fingers of the other into Sam's hair and took a vicious hold._

_Leaning into Sam's ear he whispered "Just. Shut. The fuck. Up."_

_Sam tried, Really tried._

_He managed to get it down to a whimper, his chest heaving, tears running pink down his cheeks, spittle flying from his swollen lips with every heavy breath._

_Since Dean had got back from Purgatory, he got progressively worse. Initially it was small flashes of anger, roughing up witnesses, overkill on the easiest hunts. Still Dean, just more so._

_But this…nothing like this._

_Almost silently, like a whispered prayer, Sam managed to turn his trembling chin and angle it at Dean's ear, hissing out, "Please. Don't. Please!"_

_Dean yanked hard on Sam's hair, pulling his head back, exposing his neck._

_The awkward angle sent a jolt of pain through Sam's body and he screamed._

_As Sam started to sob again, Dean bent forward and put his lips to Sam's throat, He licked away the streaks of blood and tears, bit hard enough to break the skin and sucked dark bruises into the flesh until Sam was both clean and broken._

_Then he pulled away and started to jerk Sam's jeans off of his hips in time with his sobbing._

_Through Sam's pain and Dean's rage, neither of them noticed that Dean was crying too._

___________________________________

___________________________________

 

The sensation was beyond pleasure but so completely devoid of it too somehow.  
When it came, when he let it happen, it didn't just build gently like in the beginning. He didn't have to drag every ounce of energy out of himself anymore. It surged through him, filling him, possessing him, overpowering him.

Almost.  
And that, he knew was the source of his addiction.

  
The flesh-raw, naked-nerve, ocean-swell, almighty Power that had violated him, was under his control. All he had to do was close his eyes and focus, just like Ruby had shown him.  
And regardless how many times he told himself or Dean that it made sense, that he was saving people, that he could kill Lilith, he knew damn well that he liked this.

He liked the way it made him feel. He put up with the bloody noses, the headaches, even Dean's constant hounding for this beautiful terrible gratification deep down in his soul.

He didn't need to open his eyes and see the black smoke pouring to the ground and burning up around the bound screaming woman to know it was working. He could feel it.

Being able to reach inside her, groping around with his mind, dragging out the black eyed son of a bitch and feeling him writhe in agony as he burnt up, all without touching anything.

It felt pure. He felt pure. For the first time in his life.

He opened his eyes and started to lower his hand. The woman's head was slumped forward onto her chest which didn't appear to be moving. Not exactly the win he was hoping for.

Something else was moving though, out of the corner of his eye. His head whipped round and he instinctively held out his hand, drawing up on the Power inside, ready to go again.

But it was Dean, not another demon.  
Sam wished that it was another demon.

Dean was silent. His body tense and hard as his green eyes as he walked towards him.

He was pissed. Understandably so. Sam had promised. Again. And yet again had broken that promise. Whatever was coming he deserved it.

He shuffled on the spot but didn't turn away and drew himself up ready for the flurry of punches and cutting accusations that would actually hurt him more. But he didn't seem able to lower that hand.

Dean stepped forward until Sam's hand touched his chest. Sam flinched away from the contact but Dean was quick and grabbed his wrist with both hands, his eyes not leaving his brother.

As Dean raised Sam's hand up, Sam braced himself. He'd had his fingers broken before. It was never good but seeing the pain and betrayal on Dean's face he knew that he deserved this. At least this. Deans thumbs rubbed up the inside of Sam's wrist and palm, stretching his fingers out until he was holding them splayed and vulnerable. Sam's breath hitched and he tried his best to keep his cool.

But then Dean looked down, his eyes moistening and stared at the palm.

Then leant in and pressed his dry lips to its centre.

Sam was so shocked, he all but cried out.

Dean held him there for two heartbeats that lasted an eternity and then let go.

Sam snatched his hand away, unable to conceal his horror and confusion. Dean didn't bother to look back up. He turned and walked away like nothing had happened.  
Not the exorcism, not the kiss. Just drifted away, saying matter of factly,

"We need to go. Bobby called. He's got a line on Lilith."

Sam stared after him. A beating would have been better.

___________________________________

___________________________________

  
"What is it?"

Sam laughed, "It's a present, dumbass! Open it"

Dean shook it. The familiar noise brought out a slightly worried look, "You got me music?"

Sam smiled "Yeah, I know. But I think you'll like it, so…"

The neat newspaper wrapping fell quickly to the floor. Dean just stared at the small plastic box in his hand.

Sam shifted in his seat "Do you like it?"

"Like it?" Dean was transfixed. "Like it! This is 'Listen to my Bluebird'. This is…"

Sam had heard this all before and couldn't help interrupt "…the only time Zepplin played 'Ramble On' in full. In concert. I know. Do you like it?"

"Like it!" Dean finally looked up, his eyes wet but sparkling. "Sammy this is the best present ever!" Suddenly he was reaching out and grabbing Sam's face. He leant over and planted a huge wet sloppy kiss on his cheek.

Sam laughed loudly and pushed him off, "Hey! Not in front of the angel! He might get the wrong idea."

Cas, who had stood motionless in the corner, shifted uncomfortably and replied "I'm afraid it's too late for that, Sam."

Dean laughed and jumped out of the chair, babbling excitedly "This is so awesome! Where did you get it? Actually nevermind. I'm gonna jump in Baby and play it right now. You coming, Sammy! Cas?"

Sam laughed and waved him away. "No man. You and Baby have some quality time together. And when you get back there'll be pie"

"Seriously! Awesome!"

The door slammed and two minutes later, over the squeal of tyres, everyone in the motel knew what Sam had got Dean for his birthday.

_______________________________

_______________________________

 

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and yawned. He was tired. They were all tired.

Time was running out and he didn't need to look at the clock to know it. If they didn't find the right spell soon that poor stupid girl was going to die. And not in anyway that was good. But, my god, he was bored.  
And hungry.  
But mostly bored.  
He felt like he read the damn spell book a hundred times already and still nothing. The words were swimming on the page and he just couldn't seem to focus any more.

The sun had set and risen with the three of them sat in pretty much the same positions at Bobby's, Sam on the couch, Dean in the chair opposite and Bobby at his desk, piles of books like a fort surrounding them.

Except Bobby hadn't been sitting for a while now.  
Dean couldn't be sure whether it was the eyestrain or Bobby behind him, pacing and pacing, muttering and cursing to himself, that had given him the blinding headache.  
Bobby punctuated another lost hour by yelling "Balls!" and throwing his heavy, loud book down before picking up another and starting the process all over again.  
Yeah, could be either or both.  
Or maybe he was just sobering up.  
God, he was hungry.  
He rubbed a hand over his face and looked up at Sam, ready to offer a kitchen run. Then thought better of it

Sam was fuming.

He was staring down intently at the tome on the table in front of him, wide eyed, jaw working, shoulders twitching and shifting. Dean knew that Sam needed relative peace to work in and that even he, for some unknown reason, was capable of irritating Sam while he researched.  
So the fact that Bobby's flouncing about was pissing Dean off…yeah, Sam was definitely on the verge of losing it.

They had already had one bust up that night that got way too close to blows for Dean's liking. He wasn't prepared to have to go through the rigmarole of calming them down again.  
Sam's hands bunched into fists and raising his head, he took a deep breath.

Dean rolled his eyes and did the only thing he could think of.

Quickly leaning forward over the table, he put one hand on Sam's thigh and reached for the book sitting next to but slightly behind him on the couch, bringing his face right up to his brother's. Sam glared at him. Dean smiled. And then brushed his lips fleetingly over Sam's. Then sat back down, opening the book on his lap, and grinned.

Sam's face was a picture. Utterly swept blank with surprise and horror that Dean would do something like that.

And in front of Bobby.

Dean could see the 'whatwereyouthinking!' wheels spinning in Sam's brain and chuckled silently to himself.

He was sure the old man would be far too engrossed to have spotted it.  
Well, 80% sure.

Settling back, he planned to try and read at least one page before heading for the fridge.

Sam sat motionless and eventually breathed out. Bobby didn't look up from the pages,

"You got something to say, boy?"

"Yeah...I found it"

_____________________________

_____________________________

 

"Sam…Sammy. You awake?"

The whisper sounded surprisingly loud from under the covers.

Sam really wasn't in the mood for whatever Dean was up to. He had an english test in the morning and then John had been planning some kind of endurance training in the afternoon which he'd tried and failed to get out of. It made sense if he wasn't allowed to use a shotgun yet that he should be able to get the hell out of dodge as quickly as possible. Even if it was only so John or Dean didn't get killed trying to protect him. Either way, brain and body needed to be rested. Not woken at…

"What time is it?"  
"About three."  
"Is everything okay?"  
"Yes…I just…" He could hear Dean shuffling on the carpet, crouching next to his bed and turned to face him, pulling the sheet down off his face.  
"What? Dean, I have a test…"  
"Shh. You'll wake Dad! I just want to try something"  
"At three in the morning?"

Dean sighed and hung his head in the gloom.

 WideAwakeSam would have found it highly amusing and would have revelled in teasing but SleepySam felt bad. It wasn't often that he dropped the big brother act.

It was too easy to forget, with all the responsibility heaped on him, that he silently accepted and bore like an adult, that he was really just a fifteen year kid, deep down as awkward and self conscious as any other.

"I'm sorry, Dean. Tell me."  
"Okay. I was just reading this thing…"  
"Reading?" Sam wasn't trying to sound bitchy but it came out that way.

Dean huffed in the dark and Sam knew he was losing patience.  
"I just wanna try something is all!"  
"Okay okay! I'm sorry"

Dean shuffled closer in the darkness "Okay. Just lean over and keep really still."

Sam propped himself up on one elbow but leaned back "Why?" The memory of the chilli eating 'contest' was still quite fresh in his mind.

"Come on Sam! Don't be a baby. Just hold still 'til I say"

Sam muttered but did as he was told until he could see Dean's face closing in on his in the dark.

"Wha…what are you doing?"

"God, stop being a brat about this. Just shut up for two seconds!"

 The hissing whispers were getting progressively louder but the noise of John shifting in dark made them freeze until Dean felt safe enough to mouth "Stay. Still"  
Sam sighed but did.

Carefully, Dean brought his face to Sam's until his eye socket rested on his cheek. Then he fluttered his eyelashes.

  
"What does that feel like?"

Sam suddenly wasn't sure whether he was actually awake or not. "I dunno. It tickles, I guess"

Dean pulled his head away and sat for a second. "Huh…do me"

Sam sighed but obligingly leaned over and did the same to Dean's cheek as he held it out in the dim light. Then sat back and waited for Dean to speak.

"Huh. That's what I thought. Okay. Back to sleep Sammy."

Sam sat there dumbfounded as Dean's dark shape slid back up under the covers of his own bed, illuminated moments later by the muted glow of a flashlight.

Sam flopped back on his pillow, bemused but somehow not surprised. He prepared to pull the sheet back over his head and succumb to his sleepiness but couldn't resist whispering across the void,

"What are you reading?"

The flashlight snapped dark and by morning the memory was dark too.

  
________________________

________________________

 

Dean could barely breathe. And he didn't even have the excuse of Sam's weight baring down on him for once.

It was the excitement lodged in his chest.

Sam's mouth covering his had something to do with it but it was mostly the excitement. And it just made him feel stupid. After all this time.

All the time they spent together, hunting, living, travelling, fighting, after all the stolen moments, the long days of abandon, the weeks when they were never out of each others sight, after a lifetime together Dean still quivered deep inside when he felt Sam's breath on his lips, still felt his skin prickle with anticipation the moment before Sam touched him and still had no control over the excitement that would rise up from his belly, spreading out and taking his breath away when they kissed.

He could be such a girl sometimes.

His head felt clouded as Sam's tongue continued to explore his mouth, running smoothly around it's extremities, teeth occasionally making contact, lips sucking hard, then softly, drinking each other in, feeling the sensation of stubble on light stubble rasping across their chins and cheeks, noses rooting against the other while hard fingers pulled softly through hair and firmly on shirt collars.  
Because tonight the clothes were staying on. At least for now.

They were supposed to be staking out the warehouse. Well, they were staking out the warehouse. But it was boring.  
And cold. And they couldn't even sit in the Impala.

So while crouching down behind a dumpster for hours was the best plan, hell, the only plan they had, Dean had to do something to take his mind off the crippling pain in his dodgy leg brought on by the freezing cold. And it wasn't like Sam was complaining.

Dean could feel Sam's chest hitching with his rapid breath and had to fight the urge to run his hand down the centreline of his body to find out what was happening down there. It would have to wait.  
Sam licked at the corner of Dean's mouth.  
Waiting suddenly seemed overrated.

His hand left Sam's neck and started to travel down, when the sound of the metal gates changed it's trajectory and it snatched the sawn-off from the ground next to his boots.

They caught a glimpse of each other briefly, all wet lipped, mussed hair, red faced, before their full attention was back on the job in hand. Ganking that son of a bitch before it hurt anyone else. Especially them.

___________________________

___________________________

 

It had just been one of those days.

It started bad, managing to get into a shouting match with Dad before breakfast, and had just gotten worse from there.

At sixteen, Sam was finding it harder and harder to accept that he could never get a straight answer out of John about anything. And finding it less and less easy to just keep his mouth shut about it.  
He didn't mean for it to happen but the arguments were getting worse.  
It wasn't until Dean actually stepped in for once, and distracted his father, that Sam realised how close he had been to getting slapped this time.

So that was awesome.  
Then, on top of the fact that he hated this school and was having much more trouble than usual fitting in, for some reason (well, almost certainly because Dean had managed to persuade the head cheerleader to skip school and head off to god knows where) the entire football team had been giving him a hard time all day.

Like he had any control over anything that Dean was doing. The worse part was he felt more angry thinking about what Dean and (Mindy? Mandy? whatever) were getting up to, than the barrage of ear-flicks, trip-ups, dead-legs and shoulder-barges that he had to endure from the meat heads until the final bell rang.

He kept telling himself that it was just because he could have done with a day at the beach, time away from having to pretend to be normal, even in this crappy weather but deep down he couldn't shake the connection to the, frankly, inappropriate thoughts that kept popping into his head lately.  
He tried to justify his flashes of jealousy when Dean looked at or spoke to virtually anyone else, or the need bordering on pain to be in physical contact with him whenever he got close, as being some kind of teenage-hormonal-anxiety-related-something-or-other, that any psychologist would nod sympathetically at and say was completely normal under the circumstances.

It was fucked up but not as fucked up as the alternative explanation.

The worse part was Dean had definitely noticed. The last few months he seemed to be extra careful around Sam, over protective but keeping a clear distance between them. Hell, he didn't even punch him in the shoulder anymore.

Sam had plenty of time to think this all over, as he trudged home from school in the pouring rain, because, of course, this would be the day that Dean forgot to pick him up. By the time he got back to the motel, he and all his school books, were soaked through, just the red hot embers of rage keeping him from having frozen to death.

The fact that the room was empty was a blessed relief.

When Dean did finally show, he managed a chirpy "Hey Sammy" and half a wicked grin before he realised that wasn't going to cut it.

Sam was sat in Dean's hand-me-down pyjamas that hung loosely off him despite him having filled out considerably lately, his hair still damp and ruffled, skin still pink and blotchy from the hot shower, hunkered over a bowl of cereal, the stony look on his face set to kill, while the upturned bodies of wet books lay around the room like dead birds.

Dean dropped the damp bag of groceries from his arms onto the floor by the door and started to take off his jacket,  
"I'm sorry, Sammy…"

"I don't want to hear it, Dean!"

Dean flinched at the scraping noise of the chair, as Sam stormed up and over to the sink, clattering the bowl down into it. "I stood there for an hour waiting for you! Like an idiot!"

Dean sighed and dumped his jacket as he walked over and started to roll up his sleeves.  
He'd fucked up and he knew it.

He also suspected this was less about leaving Sam to walk home in the rain and more to do with the bust up that he'd had with John that morning.  
That or the weird thing that had come between them over the last few months.

He was going to opt for the argument because he couldn't handle the other thing right now.

The tension between Sam and John was starting to become a real problem. Sam just couldn't seem to accept their life as hunters anymore.  
He had to question every little thing and, damn, it was wearing. Especially to a man like John who was used to giving orders and that be the end of it.

But it was so hard to watch, as Dean could see how bad Sam felt about it all.

He had seen that look of anger, sadness but mostly of regret at the sound of the Impala pulling away with his angry father inside it that morning. He knew how hard it was for Sam, there had been a time when he had felt like he wanted a normal life too.

The difference was that he remembered what had happened, how their father had struggled in the beginning and felt closer to him because of it. Or maybe just a little further away from everyone else.

Why he thought today of all days it would be okay to bail on his little brother, he couldn't fathom. Seeing Sam, white knuckling the edge of the counter, knowing he was trying not to cry, all Dean wanted to do was grab him and hold him and tell him he was sorry and everything was going to be okay…and feel his body close against him and bury his face in Sam's neck…

He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the counter as far from Sam as the small space would allow. "Bad day?"

Sam snorted in derision "You say that like a good day is actually an option."  
"Sam…come on."  
"No, fuck you. I'm allowed to be pissed at you, okay!"  Sam turned away and wiped his sleeve over his face.

Dean pursed his lips for a moment and then pushed off the counter and headed for the door.

"Well, be a pissy bitch if you want but I've got something that'll cheer you up." He grabbed the bag of groceries and started to unpack it on to the table.

Sam turned reluctantly and looked at the goodies out of the corner of his eye and said quietly "Pie?"

Dean glared at him, "Hell, no! Hands off the pie, thats mine"  
Sam slowly walked over to the table, tilting his head "A skin mag?"  
"No! What's wrong with you? No. This"

Dean held out a scrappy comic book, the cover worn so badly it was barely holding together. Sam took it, bemused but intrigued by the delight on Dean's face.

"Classics Illustrated?"  
"They had a box of old magazines and stuff in the store and that was just sitting on top!"

Sam looked at it and shook his head "I don't know what this is."  
Dean looked surprised and a little hurt. "Oh come on. You don't remember? I used to read this to you. When you were…you really don't remember?"  
Sam wanted to say yes but had to shake his head.

Dean huffed and snatched the comic back, muttering, "Well, that was a waste of two bucks."

It was back in Sam's hands before he fully registered it. "Hey! If you get pie and porn, I think I should at least be allowed a look." He grabbed a bag of chips from the pile of junk food that had appeared on the table and sloped off to his bed.

Dean's lips bucked at the edges into a smile that quickly became a scowl as he screwed up the paper bag and threw it in the corner, missing the trashcan completely. "Well, there's no need to be a bitch about it".

He started to unpackage the pie, his stomach rumbling, when Sam spoke softly.  
"Will you…will you read it to me? Like you used to? Maybe I'll remember?"

Dean looked across. Sam was sat cross legged on the bed, holding the ragged pages out with both hands. This was Sam trying to make up. Oh but he looked tired. Really tired. And soft.

The last thing that Dean wanted to do was to sit next to his brother on a bed or feel Sam's hair brush against his neck as he lay his head on Dean's shoulder, a remanant of when they were children.

Because Dean then would put his arm around Sam and pull him close, and Sam would reach an arm across his stomach and hold him tight.

Because if they lay there long enough, Dean's hand might reach up and stroke the side of Sam's face and bend down and kiss his temple like he did when they were boys and he wanted Sam to feel safe and loved.

Because they weren't boys any longer.

And more than anything, he would want Sam to look up at him and bring his face up towards him, towards a kiss, the kiss that would start and end everything.

Soft, tired and dry lipped for now, later beyond the guilt and confusion, deep, wet, lazy, urgent, mingled with the tang of tears or passion or blood. But all of it for Sam. All of because of this thing between them, this realisation that they needed this, needed this kiss, needed this closeness. Because they could never, would never get it anywhere else.

It was the last thing that Dean wanted to do precisely because it was the thing he wanted more than anything.

And he would never, could never do it.  
But for Sam.

"WIll you?"

Dean sighed and closed the lid back over the pie.  
"Okay, Sammy. If that's what you want."

_____________________________________

_____________________________________

  
Dean knew it was a bad idea.

A bad,  BAD idea.

But when Sammy had that look in his eye…well, if he was going to stay the best brother ever, he couldn't say no, could he?

It's just the library was so damn quiet. Usually there was something, fluorescent lights, air-con, computer fans, people even, to make some noise but not here. Even death wasn't this quiet. Well…bad example.

When Sam gave him the look, that look, all sweet and filthy, over the top of some dusty volume of local confederate history, Dean could practically hear his blood pressure go up. So he should have known the volume of their chairs grinding over the tile floor when they pushed them back in unison (rookie mistake) was more than enough to draw the attention of the baggy-sweatered librarian behind the desk.

By the time they got behind the book stack, Dean thought he could hear Sam's pounding heart syncopating with the sound of his own.

Then it was too late to say no. Sam panted into Dean's mouth as he licked his way into Sam's, their lips smacking and stubble scratching as they pressed into each other. Teeth scratching momentarily over teeth, before they pulled back and gasped for air. Their bodies surged back, slamming into the wall and onto each other, hands grasping and rustling under jackets and shirts and undershirts.

Sam murmured at his touch and let out a whimper when Dean's hand brushed his nipple.  
Dean clamped down onto Sam's mouth to silence him but ended up moaning himself as Sam's fingers found their way into the back of his jeans and dug into his buttocks, pulling him in.

Their tongues lapped frenetically, slobbering their chins with spit and echoing the jean-on-jean rhythmic rasping as they thrust against each other.  
And all the while Sam letting out the sporadic, almost inaudible 'uh' that kept Dean inexorably bound to him.

The cacophony filled Dean's ears and for a moment it was magical, a full spectrum sensory experience of what was normally lost in the hum of the everyday world.  
But then the security guard cleared his throat behind them and that kinda ruined it.

"Do you think he's okay" Sam looked worried and a little guilty as they drove away, tyres squealing as the rounded the corner.

"Pfft, he's fine! He'll sleep it off and have a great story to tell the cops in the morning."

 Dean scowled and dispelled the anxiety with a wave of his hand. He'd checked the guy was breathing before they left. Twice. So there was no need to worry.

"But Sammy…?" He made sure he had eye contact and his full attention "Let's remember which state we're in before you go all Jessica Rabbit on me again, okay? "

______________________________

______________________________

 

The motel door banged open with such force, the curtains covering the small window next to it billowed and sent the papers that Sam had left on the table, floating down to the floor.

Sam was so relieved to see the crappy little room.

He didn't think he could carry Dean even one step more when he finally hauled him off his shoulder and onto the bed. Dean slumped down into a seated position, groaned and involuntarily started to roll back.

"Whoa, hold on buddy!" Sam grabbed him and pulled him back upright "Let's get you patched up first."

He knelt down pushing forward between Dean's legs spreading them open and gently cupping his chin, lifted his drooping head away from his chest  
He winced. Dean was such a mess it hurt Sam to look at him.

He should be in the hospital but they just couldn't risk it. If he had taken him there, Dean would have just crawled back out on his hands and knees on principle, anyway. He'd have to just put him together himself. Once Dean was balanced, Sam grabbed what he needed and was back down at Dean's feet before he could topple over again.

It took him a while to get Dean's shirt off. The thick sticky blood soaked into it had glued the buttons into the holes. He'd have to burn it later.

After one failed attempt to get Dean's undershirt off, Sam figured dislocated shoulder trumps clothing, and started to cut it off. Dean groaned and glared at Sam with the eye that wasn't swollen shut. Sam just shook his head.

How Dean could tell his favourite teeshirt from the others when they were all exactly the same, he'll never know.

What was underneath wasn't as bad as he had expected.

What bruising was there, was blooming purple and red up to the surface but he'd had worse. Sam carefully ran his hand over Dean's torso as he wiped it clean, trying to gently feel for anything swollen or broken. Any damage there was, old scars and healed ribs, had all been there that morning.  
The most worrying thing was the cut where the demon had tried to slice off Dean's tattoo. It wasn't badly damaged but Sam knew he'd have to be especially careful sewing it up so he didn't mess with the mojo.

As he tentatively wiped and blotted, only backing off momentarily when Dean flinched and moaned, his brother started to emerge from the bloody mess that he'd carried from the car.

His left eye was really swollen but he could open it enough that Sam could see that Dean's eyeball was still working. The jagged cut on his temple was bad but it was already closing itself. There was a clump of hair missing from the back of his head but Sam decided to wait until Dean was feeling a little better before he told him about that. Sam couldn't help but stare at the bite mark on Dean's neck and shudder, thinking of that thing's mouth touching the place where his own had been just hours before.

The worst damage was to Dean's jaw and lips. It looked like thats where most of the demon's rage had been focused. God knows what Dean had said to it but he had definitely pissed it off enough to want to shut him up for good.

Dean groaned when Sam put his hands on his jawbone, both of them praying that it wasn't broken, relieved when it moved the way it was supposed to.  
It was going to be soup and smoothies for at least a week. Sam hoped Dean wouldn't try and liquidize a burger like last time. The memory made him smile

"Fffummm ummuu" was all Dean could manage but Sam knew a 'Fuck You' when he heard one.

"I'm not laughing at you, dumbass!" He gingerly started to wipe at Dean's lips.

Sam imagined, that like the rest of Dean, once the blood and dirt was off, they would look better. They didn't.

One side of his top lip was normal but just served to make the other swollen half look even bigger. The bottom lip was split in three places and puffed up like an over-ripe fruit. One of the splits was oozing. The look on Sam's face was the next best thing to a mirror.

Dean made a noise that roughly translated as 'is it really that bad?'

Sam sighed "Well, I'm not kissing that."

Dean snorted and smiled and cried out with the pain of it, raising his hand up to cradle his face. Sam got there first, mainly to stop Dean from touching his open wounds with his still filthy hands. He put his gently around the places on Dean's head that looked the least sore. He wanted more than anything to just kiss him better but every inch of his skin looked ragged with pain.

Cautiously, he brought his forehead to rest on the side of Dean's that had escaped injury. He felt Dean's breath shudder out of him, knowing tears would follow. And did the only thing he could think of.

Later, much later, after Sam had held him up in the shower, one arm around his chest while the other washed him down, after Sam had popped the trick shoulder back into place and sewed up the places that needed sewing, after Sam had stayed awake for nearly two days watching his brother for signs of a concussion, holding him all night, every night, after the week of tending, feeding, caring, after all this and more, he started to wish he'd just left Dean where he found him, in the parking lot gutter.

"Seriously?"  
"Dean! Will you just let it go!"  
"I worry about you Sam."  
"It's…it's an innuit thing, okay!"  
"Yes, because the name Winchester clearly shows our eskimo heritage?!"  
"For god's sake! It was one kiss!"  
"No. Not a kiss. A violation was what it was"  
"Your mouth looked like a baboon's ass. What was I supposed to do?!"  
"Not that, Sammy. Not that."

___________________________

___________________________

 

"Oh Sammy, come on!"

Sam had shot to his feet and already made a move to storm away but turned back and glared down at Dean. "No, fuck you, Dean! Just…Just once I'd like to feel…normal. Just once!"

Then he was off.

Not out of the bar as Dean expected but over to the pool tables on the other side of the large room.

Dean shook his hanging head and stared at the beer bottle in his hand, avoiding the stares of the people around him.  
He couldn't see them but they had to be looking at him like the asshole he was.

He smiled awkwardly to himself.  
It was ironic, really. Sam had finally accepted everything. He didn't seem to hanker for a different career, or life, anymore. He was hunter now, all in, like it should be. Happy to live on the road. No more surreptitious searches for colleges or planning what to do after it was all over. Willing to do whatever was needed to get the job done.  
And even the thing between them had been resolved. They had both struggled with it in different ways in the beginning but now, now it was the two of them, together, all in, like it should be.

Except Dean kept fucking it up.

There were times, places, when, with the best will in the world, they had to keep their mouths shut and their hands off each other.  
It was just common sense. And in some cases, the law.

But then there came times and places, like this. A gay bar in San Francisco. It didn't get more perfect than this. If there was any place that Dean could give his brother what he wanted, some semblance of normality or their twisted version of it anyway, it was here.

Dean hadn't wanted to go, all he could think was drag queens and bondage gear.  
Turned out it was just like a regular bar, even the music was fairly decent. They were having a really good evening, gearing up towards a pretty spectacular night.

But then Sammy had leant over to kiss him and Dean flinched away. And of course, made it oh so much worse by trying to make a joke out of the whole thing. Even the extra special smile just seemed to pour fuel on the fuck up.

The beer bottle squeaked in Dean's hands as he wrung it in frustration. Then he nearly spilt the damn thing when he clocked some guy sidling over to Sam and, oh my god, buying him a drink. And Sammy just letting it happen.

There was only one thing for it.

Dean stood, took a deep breath and roughly straightened his jacket. Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible but not succeeding, he walked over to where Sam was leant on the bar, totally letting the drink-buying jerk hit on him.

He had to clear his throat twice before Sam decided to turn round.  
Sam glared and Dean's courage faltered.  
As did his voice.

"..m….ree"  
Sam leant his head down and squinted "I'm sorry? Did you say something?"  
Dean sighed and took a deep breath and too loud said "I'm Sorry!" It got everyone's attention but he did his best to keep his eyes on Sam. "I am sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. I know I can be a shit bro…boyfriend.." The word made him wince but Sam appreciated it "…sometimes. I will make it up to you. Anyway you want."

Speech over, he nodded to himself and sighed. Then putting one hand on Sam's chest he craned his neck up and gave him a peck on the lips, instantly feeling the flush of pink colour his cheeks.

He flashed the drink-buying jerk, who was standing there smirking, his best 'touch him and I'll end you' look, before scurrying back to the safety of his beer. He couldn't help smiling as he downed it in one draft. He could see Sam making his way back to the table out of the corner of his eye.

The make up sex was going to be awesome.

______________________________

______________________________

 

Dean swung the axe and missed.

The vampire lunged at him but Dean was quicker. He took a step back and to the side, using the vampire's own momentum to send him sprawling onto his face. Dean swung the axe over his head and brought it down onto the creature's neck with every bit of strength he had left.

It was enough.

The axe hit with a sickening thwack and it's head rolled away leaving a gushing river of blood behind it.

Dean's relief was short-lived.  
Sam's scream cut through the sudden silence.

Dean froze inside but his body took over and staggered off in the direction of the barn, praying Sam was still where he left him and that he wasn't too late.  
They should never have come.

The nest had turned out to be a whole lot bigger than they had expected but even still, that last hunt had really taken it out of them both so they weren't at full strength.They should have waited.  
The thought that Sam might be dead or worse flooded Dean with adrenaline as he kicked open the barn door and burst through, "Sam!"  
It took his eyes a moment to register in the gloom. Three headless bodies lay sprawled out like some macabre slumber party on the blood-soak straw that covered the floor.

A cursory glance told him the none were Sam but it didn't ease his panic. He raised up the axe ready to swing and yelled again "Sam!"

"Um…here."

The sheepish tone wasn't what Dean had expected but he rounded the stack of bails that blocked his view with caution and a little relief.  
When he saw what was on the other side, he stopped, raised his eyebrows and lowered the axe to the ground.

  
"How the hell did you get up there?"

  
Sam smiled, mortified, upside-down, swinging gently as he slowly rotated, suspended by one foot from the hayloft above.

"I tripped…I got tangled and tripped, okay. Just…cut me down before I pass out!…Dean!"

  
Sam had turned so far round that he couldn't see Dean but he could hear him laughing. He tried to jerk his head round to flick himself back but he just succeeded in flapping about like a fish on a line and didn't get anywhere.

  
"Goddammit! Get me down, you ass!"

  
Dean chuckled quietly and rested forward onto the long handle of the axe. "Oh, I'm the ass! You're the one strung up like a Christmas Turkey!"

  
Sam stopped struggling and let his body go limp. "Dude. Seriously. My leg is killing me."

  
Dean took a long breath and walked forward, muttering "Okay, Sammy. But, my god, the possibilities…"  
Sam breathed a sigh of relief when Dean snatched Sam's lost machete poking out of the straw beneath him and headed toward the rickety ladder in the corner.  
But then Dean stopped and spun on his heel.

  
"What are you doing?" Sam had a sneaking suspicion why Dean was grinning and jogging back towards him "Oh god, your not…"

  
Dean shrugged and placed a hand on either side of Sam's inverted face. "Come on Sam. When else am I going to get the chance?"

  
Sam huffed and closed his eyes so he didn't have to look up Dean's nose. "Well hurry up, my foot is about to come off, you jerk!"  
Dean brought his mouth up to Sam's so he could feel the whisper on his lips. "Bitch."

  
Sam was surprised how uncomfortable his jeans suddenly became, being that the majority of his blood was in his upstairs brain but managed to stammer. "I'm..so cancelling your Netflix account."

  
Dean smiled. And kissed him. Even though he was purple.

_____________________________

_____________________________

 

Sam's tongue ran slowly up from Dean's collarbone, to the sensitive spot where his jaw met his ear. Dean had been holding his breath without even realising until Sam's tongue flicked over his earlobe and he let it out all at once.

  
And then inhaled deeply and held it as Sam leant back down and began again.

  
All the hours, days, years that he'd spent on the rack in Hell, under Alistair's hands and knife, he never imagined that anyone could come up with a torture that he hadn't endured or imagined.  
But if anyone could surprise him, it was going to be Sammy.

  
When Sam had laid him out, stripped to the waist , and started to raise his arms above his head, Dean could feel panic start to set in.  
But Sam had sensed it, felt his body tense under him and had murmured gentle words in his ear and promised him faithfully with his eyes that everything was going to be okay, until Dean relaxed again.

  
Gradually, Sam had worked Deans wrists up towards the handcuffs and once they clicked shut had stroked back down his body just as slowly, vigilant to any change in his flesh or breath that meant the panic was back. But it didn't come.

  
Once Sam reached the waistband of Dean's jeans, he put his mouth on him, starting on his hipbone, using his lips and tongue to work back and forth across Dean's body, touching every pore.  
And so it had gone on. Dean couldn't be sure how long they had been like this but he felt like his brain and various other parts of him were going to explode.

  
Since he got back, physical contact with anyone had been difficult and intimacy with Sam was just not an option. He thought he could deal with it on his own. That the guilt would somehow just fade over time. But it didn't. He felt like he was losing it, losing himself. Hell, he couldn't even get it up anymore.  
Confessing to Sam what he had done, what he had become, was the last resort. And all it had achieved was emptiness. It didn't make him feel better. Or worse.  
It had wiped him clean and there was nothing left but a shell.

  
So when Sam had broken the silence of the motel room and asked him if he trusted him, he had no idea. But Sam had come to him anyway and when he started to pull his shirt from his shoulders, Dean couldn't think of a reason to stop him.

  
Now, he was lying here, covered in a sheen of sweat and spit, Sam's lips sucking at the stubble on the line of his jaw, his cock harder than he could ever remember it being, aware of the sticky patch seeping through his jeans, breathing hard and trying not to cry out.  
He wanted Sam to use his teeth on him, bite him, scratch him, ravage him but he just kept on gently kissing up to the corner of Dean's mouth.  
Then his tongue was inside it.  
Dean craned his head forward biting and urgent but Sam pulled away until Dean relaxed. It took two more tries but eventually Sam was able to kiss Dean with the slow languid movements he wanted, tongues sliding slowly over each other and lips gently sucking lips.

  
Sam pulled away. Dean looked flushed which just served to make his eyes glow greener. Sam smiled. Dean brought his head up as if to kiss him but whispered "I love you, Sammy"  
Sam shook his head and smiled wider "You're such a girl, Dean" He leant his head down and kissed his brother again.

  
Then started the slow journey back down.  
Hoping that Dean could wait until he got there.

_______________________________

_______________________________

 

"No!"  
He could barely speak, the words coming involuntarily with his sobs as he stumbled towards his brother.  
"No"  
They rasped over his vocal chords, sore from screaming, screaming at Lilith to stop.  
He slid a hand under Dean's bloody torso, the blood running through his fingers still warm but starting to thicken as it pooled beneath him, and pulled him into his arms for the last time.  
"Dean!"  
Pain wracked Sam's body, not from being crushed against the wall, held in Lilith's psychic vice.  
It was the agony of the emptiness in Dean's eyes. He looked into them desperately searching for some flicker of life, of hope, of a chance that this wasn't happening, wasn't real.  
But there was nothing.  
And the nothing burnt low and bright like sulphur in the pit of his belly.

  
Because Dean had been the one that had occupied that space, his voice filling it with comfort and warmth, his touch sending it white hot pleasure or dull agonising longing. Whatever he decided Sam needed, he had given it.  
And now he was gone, there was nothing but the void and every nerve-ending that touched it burnt with the grief of it.  
Sam didn't even try to fight the tears. His skin felt pricked by a thousand needles and nausea swept over him. The nothing reached out and up, crushing his chest, searing at his shoulders and hips, ripping down his back. He felt like he too was being eaten alive.  
The tears were a comfort. At least they felt normal.

  
Dean was heavy.  
Oh god, Dean felt so heavy. It made no sense.  
If something had left his body, surely he should feel lighter.  
It was as if the opposite had happened. Like his soul was the air inside him, making him light, buoyant above the sinking depths of death and now it was gone, the spaces had filled with so much blood that it was overflowing from the ragged fissures that had ripped across his flesh.  
Sam couldn't bear it.  
His breath checked and hitched in his chest as the pain poured out of him.  
Tears fell, mingling with the spots of blood on Dean's face. Sam lifted up his hand to wipe them away but froze, a strangled cry caught in his throat, when he saw his glistening scarlet fingers.  
He threw back his head and the cry released itself and became howl.

  
Sam arched over, pressing his body down as he clasped Dean's up to him, his grasping fingers finding only lax, sticky flesh where his brother should be. His lips made their way to Dean's cooling forehead. He held his mouth there as he wept and rocked and screamed until Bobby found his mutilated boys, one wrapped like a shroud over the other.  
His own tears being lost in theirs when he finally got the strength to pull them apart.

______________________________

______________________________

 

 

Dean felt like he was going to explode.  
With manliness. definitely manliness.  
Oh, who was he kidding.

  
He felt like all his Christmases were coming at once. And not the crap kind that he and Sam tried to cobble together every year. No, it was a whole bunch of Christmases with turkey and real presents bought from a store and a proper tree and pie. And more pie.  
Pie could wait. His excitement was even dulling his appetite.  
Sammy was coming home and he felt like he was going to burst.

  
Before Sam had left to stay with Bobby, six minutes apart had felt like an eternity so six months had seemed impossible. And it was nearly over.  
As long as Dean didn't total the Impala in the next couple of miles.

For once, nothing terrible had happened.

A hunt came up that John knew would take a huge chunk of tracking time and Sam was facing the last half of his senior year so it just seemed to make sense for him to settle at Bobby's until it was all over.  
Neither boy had really liked the idea of being apart. Hell, even Dean had gotten all weepy at one point but they both knew it made sense.  
Even still, the last few nights they were together, Sam had crawled into Dean's bed whether he was convinced John was asleep or not. Which wasn't unusual, they'd shared a bed whenever they'd felt like it since they were kids except that the last year or two, whenever they did, neither of them got much sleep.

  
They had talked on the phone practically everyday.  
Sometimes Dean would just have to sit in silence, pretending that he couldn't hear the sobs at the other end of the line while he quietly wiped away his own tears. Most of the time they just talked about nothing, teased each other and roared with laughter and, if they were really lucky and were both alone, the sound of Sammy gasping, coming apart right in his ear would make Dean call out his name as he came, hard and loud. And generally drop the phone, which was gross and hard to explain if he didn't clean it up well enough.

  
Although not as hard to explain as the time he had seen Sam's number flash up and had answered it with a low "what are you wearing?", only to hear, a frankly horrified, Bobby at the other end. And Sam laughing in the background.

When John had asked him if he'd mind going to pick Sam up, it was all he could do to seem vaguely okay with it. Once out on the highway, he'd whooped and beaten the steering wheel until his palms were sore.

When he got the message from Sam to say that Bobby had to go help Rufus with, well, 'some damn fool thing' was all he'd said, and that he'd be back in the morning, Dean had put his foot down.

  
Pulling into the junkyard, he had to remind himself to let the car stop before he opened the door and jumped out. Sam was sat in the fading gold sunlight, a cooler by his side and a beer in his hand, wearing the loose blue shirt that Dean had bought him for his birthday. Except it wasn't that loose anymore.

Dean got out of the car but had to take a moment, arm resting on the open door, just to catch his breath.  
Sam looked good, looked healthy. And most importantly, looked pleased to see him. Really pleased.  
Dean figured running would probably look pretty uncool so he just grinned and sauntered over. He still had his big brother image to maintain regardless of what he would look like later, sweating and breathless with Sam inside him, begging him to come and never leave him again.

  
Sam stood and Dean felt his breath hitch in his chest.

  
Sam was...beautiful. His chest and arms were straining the light fabric as he moved towards him. He had definitely filled out.  
And up.  
Sam had been pretty tall the last time they had been together but now Dean's head was having to tilt at an uncomfortable, unfamiliar, angle to look at him.

  
"What the hell has Bobby been feeding you?"

  
Sam laughed and said  "Shut up" as he bent down into Dean's open arms.

  
They held each other, crushing the air and yearning out of them. Dean pulled away slightly and turned his head, his lips searching for soft lips. But they found only stubble. Opening his eyes, he saw Sam's starting to crinkle with amusement.

  
"Seriously, what have you been eating!?" Dean tried to sound annoyed but was smiling. Sam cheeks flushed and him pushed his brother away, laughing.

  
"I haven't changed that much have I?"

  
"Dude, my mouth only reaches your chin, so I'm going with, yes!" But then seeing Sam rub his arm the way he always had when he felt self-conscious, thought Maybe not so much.  
"It's not a bad thing, Sammy. I've just missed you"

  
"I've missed you too" They held each others gaze for a moment before Sam broke it. "You hungry?"

  
Dean smirked and raised an eyebrow as he ran his eyes over Sam's body "I'd say so"

  
Sam laughed " Oh really? You wanna see what else has got bigger in the last six months?"

  
Dean swallowed and pushed Sam roughly towards the house with one hand and a gruff "Upstairs. Now".

  
They only had twelve hours left until Bobby got back.  
And he was going to need every one.

___________________________________

___________________________________

 

_He knew what people thought. That he always put Sam first._

_  
That he would do anything for him.  
Sacrifice anything for him  
That he would put up with anything he did.  
That he would forgive him anything.  
Demon blood. Screwing Ruby. Freeing Lucifer. All the stupid, soulless, crazy things he'd done over the the years.  
He knew the pitying looks, the shakes of their heads, the wondering how he put up with it, how could he deal with the betrayals.  
And he knew the answer they came up with.  
They're blood. They're brothers.  
It's Sam and Dean, it's the only way they can be.  
But it wasn't true. Well, it certainly wasn't that simple.  
He would do anything for Sam, forgive him, absolve him, protect him.  
But Sam paid for it._

_Sam stood flat against the wall, his shaking legs stretched apart, palms flat on the wall by his shoulders, fingertips white pressing into the plaster, not so much resting his forehead on it, more bracing himself with such force that his whole body shuddered, the tendons in his back, arms and neck stark under the cold sweat on his skin._

_  
The sound escaping his lips was somewhere between a pant and a sob, either way the force of it sent tiny ribbons of bloody spittle blowing out over his split lip and the tears from his eyes, screwed tight, mingled with the sweat trickling from his temple._

_  
Dean couldn't help think that he looked his most beautiful like this.  
Naked, sweating, bleeding, trembling with the effort of holding the position._

_  
Dean stood behind him, arms hanging loosely at his sides. Slowly he leant forward and placed his lips on Sam's shoulder, just taking second to worship him, while he caught his breath._

_  
"Not much longer, Sammy."_

_  
He meant it to be a comfort but his voice couldn't help make the whisper a gravel-edged threat. Sam shuddered, took a breath in anticipation and held it.  
Dean unconsciously loosen his neck, tipping it left then right, then once again unhurriedly rose up on his toes driving the length of his cock up into Sam until it could go no further. And then he rocked his pelvis up and went deeper still. A jolt went through Sam and he jerked his head away from the wall, all his breath silently escaping at once.  
He took it back. This was Sam at his most beautiful._

_  
Dean grunted as the swell of pleasure swept up through him and then he relaxed down, as slowly as his ascent. He looked down over his own naked, shimmering torso to the point where they were joined.  
Lube, pre come and blood matting his pubic hair and streaked over Sam's sweaty flesh.  
Dean was determined not to touch Sam, didn't even prep his hole before he breached him but he couldn't help but grab Sam's cheeks, pressing his fingers deep into his flesh, feeling the blood vessels pop under them and yank them wider apart.  
Sam bucked but Dean quickly braced his forearm across his brothers neck, pinning him and started thrusting, plunging as hard and as fully as he could, up and in._

_Later, Dean would cook for them, while Sam cleaned himself up and they'd watch a movie. Sam would choose one they both liked.  
Then they'd sleep curled in each others arms.  
The day after Sam would probably seduce Dean into blowing him and would fuck his big brother the day after.  
And they would hunt and argue and joke and make out when no-one was looking, like this never happened.  
Until Sam did something stupid.  
And Dean would put up with it until the rage boiled over.  
And as soon as he got that look in his eye, that tension in his jaw, Sam knew._

_  
He didn't even try and fight, not anymore._

_  
Because standing there, screaming, as Dean pummelled into him, hearing that guttural moan roaring into his ear, feeling the come blasting hot, flooding inside him, stinging his torn up insides while pain ripped through him..._

_Sam knew that this was what forgiveness felt like._

________________________________

________________________________

 

Dean could resist almost anything.  
Anything but that.  
And if Sam ever figured it out…well, he just had to make damn sure he didn't.

Sam's hands on him…he could deal with that.  
Despite the instant redirect of his blood supply, Dean had realised early on that he had to be able to be touched by his brother without turning to pudding or life together was going to be pretty difficult.  
Just the thought of them, the large strong fingers, calloused but gentle moving over his skin, gripping his flesh as they pulled him in, carding through his hair, cradling his head when they kissed, palms pushing or pulling him to get the angle right, filling him or teasing him.  
Yeah, the hands were good but he could deal with that.

Sam's mouth…not a problem.  
Well, combine it with those big soft eyes and it was a challenge but he could handle it.  
Even when he got that look, that doe-eyed, puppy dog, I-can-make-you-do-anything-I-want look, there had been times that he had just swallowed down the urge to reach out and devour Sam on the spot.  
Not many, true. But it had been done.

  
As long as he wasn't thinking about the way Sam's lips part as his eyes roll back in his head when Dean's tongue found just the right spot. Or the way he grits his teeth, panting raggedly through them just before he comes or the desperate pleading look when he begs Dean to touch him, hurt him, come inside him.  
As long as he didn't think about that, he was just fine.

The way Sam moves…bring it on.  
Sure, the way he would run his hand absently through his stupidly long hair, hooking it behind his ear when he was reading, or the way his shoulders would square up before he fired a shotgun, or the way his whole body seemed to drop when he let out one of those uber-bitch sighs which were so adorable…oh god, and watching the man work out…all that golden skin over taut muscle, it was a thing of absolute beauty. But he could resist. He could. He didn't want to very often but he could if he felt like it.

So why in the hell did he lose his mind over that spot.  
That inch of flesh.  
He saw it all the time, saw Sam naked all the time but it never bothered him then.  
But seeing him reach up to get a book, or stretch after a long drive or just lean back in his chair and the damn thing would be peering out at him and he just couldn't help himself.

  
He had tried subtly to encourage Sam to buy shirts with a little more length in them but being so freakishly tall, they hadn't made much of a difference. One false move and there it was, hard muscle with a layer of soft skin, just the hint of downy hair through the centreline of the V formed by his hips that led down to unfathomable pleasures.  
And Dean would be instantly hard and on his knees, trying not to be too obvious but eventually his face burying into Sam's stomach, all teeth and tongue, biting and sucking, desperate to taste him. Even in public, he couldn't fight it. He would have to stifle a groan behind a fake cough and find a way to slip a hand under Sam's shirt surreptitiously or press his groin against him, until he could get Sam alone and inside him, one way or another.

  
Dean was powerless against the lure of the pelvis. It was his kryptonite. And he didn't like it.He knew if Sam ever realised it, he'd totally go Lex Luther on his ass. It was bad enough being Sammy's bitch without him gloating over it too.

 

  
Sam wasn't sure why research was making him horny, disembowelment could be further away from sexy if it tried.  
Maybe it wasn't the research.  
Dean had been sitting with that furrowed brow, pretending to read for a while now and it was damn distracting.  
Sam hated to do it, no point pulling out the big guns if he didn't have to but he wasn't sure either of them were in the mood for a long drawn out seduction.

  
So he groaned and linking his fingers, pressed his palms towards the ceiling and stretching high as he could, sighed loudly. "I've got nothing. How about you?"

 

________________________________

________________________________

 

He used the word a lot but, by god, they were idjits.

When they were kids, it was easy to justify their over dependance on each other. They only had each other, for gods sake. Living the life they were, normal relationships were hard to come by, even as kids.  
And no matter what he said to John, the stubborn bastard just couldn't see it. Didn't want to see the damage it was doing, more likely. So he'd just let it go. Everything else had been taken from those boys, who was he to ruin the one good thing they had in each others lives.

  
As time passed, things became a little more…awkward.

He so looked forward to their visits that he couldn't bring himself to confront the thing head on and besides, it was only a suspicion on his part. To begin with anyway.  
Still, he'd had a serious talk or two with Dean about his responsibilities toward Sam and more than a couple of talks with Sam about what he wanted to do with his life.

And they'd spent their time together camping, tracking, watching old movies and laughing and there seemed no reason to rock the boat. And maybe it was selfish of him, maybe he needed them, needed a family too much to stop what was probably damning them all.  
But the boys seemed happy. Relaxed even.  
Until they heard the rumble of the Impala pass through the gates. John hadn't yet stepped out of the car, they'd start yes-sir, no-sir-ing. He'd catch them looking at each other, desperate, needy glances while they kept a distance between them that just didn't feel right.

  
More and more, there would be whispered conversations abruptly halted when he entered the room, with one or the other looking pink and flustered.  
He thought about trying to suggest that it was no longer necessary for them to share a room but somehow never got round to it. He put the bumps in the night down to boyish highjinks and roughhousing, despite the fact they were a little too old for that kind of thing.

And then Sam had left for Stanford and it didn't seem to matter anymore.  
He thought Dean might wither away those first few months with the fresh bitterness of abandonment eating away at him but he'd bounced back, well, crawled back, not quite the same boy that he had been with his brother in his life.  
Dean said he was fine.  
John said Dean was fine.  
But he could see that something had died in the boy the night Sam ditched them. There had been something easy and confident about him that just evaporated. He seemed the same but it was like he was trying to overcompensate for the vacuum left by the betrayal, the loss his brother. His soulmate, if you wanted to get poetical about it.  
And then Sam came back and everything seemed restored to the way it was.

Except maybe they'd gotten dumber.

It amazed him that, out on the road, they knew they could call him day or night and he'd always be there but they never found his eagerness to get an early night suspicious when they came to stay.

  
Or that they'd been witness to him shooting a buck in the dark, focusing in on the sound of its movement through the underbrush and killing it with one shot but they somehow imagined he didn't know what someone falling out of bed sounded like…unless of course, they were doing it repeatedly.

  
Or that they didn't think that he had eyes. Hunters eyes. That see secrets where others might not. The lingering looks, lingering hands, every part of them reluctant to be far from the other for long. Eyes that might glimpse a heated conversation played out in whispers, through a darkened window. That might see one brother take the others face in his hands. That might see their mouths come together, fiercely moving against one another, see them hold each other so tightly that it hurt him.  
Because these were his boys.  
His children.  
He had not been able to give them the life they wanted but he had been able to give them what they needed.  
And what they needed was each other.

  
And so he hurt. Knowing this was the best of a very bad lot but at least they would be together.  
He didn't know how much longer he'd be around to watch out for them but he sure as hell knew where he was going when his number came up.

He may have done some wrong in his life but this was the something that he was happy to burn for.


End file.
